Tears from dusky lowered lids
crystallize and scintillate in the
flames of the guttering candles.

(Walk away, love, walk away!
Kiss my cheek and turn.-
A shattered heart beats, ****** in your breast.)
We love, and yet we return to our 'others'.
We pray we never hurt them. Pray we never break.

I cannot stop this love!  I do not regret it. There!
I only hope that we hide it well enough that it not disturb the innocents...
because, we were innocents too, when it came crashing into our lives.
Bien!  Non Regrets Rien.  Sing the song, and Edith will sing with us. ...
Or Aznavour will.  Or Lara Fabian, or Jacques Brel...
Sing on le chanteur et les chanteurs,  
then come and weep with me.

Charles Aznavour and I

Once in Southgate, I bumped into him
I apologised, so did he, and we continued on our way.
Further down the street, I said to myself
you touched a famous man, thought of running after
him telling I knew who he was, but since he knew
this already, he would think I was deluded.
I later saw a picture of him on the door of a restaurant
Where he had a “gig”; one is modern.
The ticket price was high, and I didn't care too much
of his singing, his public was for the cognoscenti
who had once been in Paris.
Me, I like Edith Piaf we lived in similar streets.

où sont les Arméniens ?
à la guerre ou sur le front
je les aime, les Arméniens
mais ils y laissent leur vie
et leur pays
et mon cœur aussi

ils sont où, les Arméniens ?
jamais je ne me lasserai de leur lavash
de leur gata et de leur kilikia
je les aime, les Arméniens
avec leur gilets militaire
je ressens de la profonde peine
ça me prend à l'intérieur des tripes
et le moindre bruit me fait sursauter

ils fuient, les Arméniens ?
me laissant seul à l'abandon
dans les villages et les ladas à l'abandon
même aznavour est parti
rejoignant les soldats perdus

le sourire des Arméniens
il me fait chaud à l'intérieur du cœur
mais mal.
mes Arméniens, ils le perdent, l'espoir
j'ai mal.
et pourtant, je tiendrai bon. jusqu'au bout
avec Vous

They're vying with each other
trying to drown out one another
but it's all noise to me,

now Bing,
he could sing
and with Bowie too

you listen to
Smiley Culture.

I want Aznavour.
V.V Brown
Ralph Mctell
and London Town

I want words to understand
I want music to take me by the hand
and walk with me through it.

I get garage and Hip Hop
Grunge
oh please
make it stop and
'say a little prayer for me'
Mama's and the Papa's
knock spots off all the rappers,

I'm goin' fishin.

Charles Aznavour sings La Bohemia, as the candlelight,
a red-yellow glow
flickers — dancing on the wall.
The years have gone by like a day,
and there is still room for more.
I have washed a thousand dishes; I took the coldest shower
and there is still time.
Even when the worst tragedy,
life can be just perfect.
The poet in Paris
was once scared of everything;
today she walked to the bar
with a cigarette and a friend,
and even though she hasn't made the best decisions
and life hasn't
and will never be ideal,
it has been and will always be perfect.
The guys went for a swim with the sharks in Dungeons — South Africa
looks like a dream in the summer,
and winter
and when it rains.
Even when there has never been a happy day,
you've never had a good cup of anything
and never been in love,
life can still be perfect.
You have misunderstood love,
and you're losing the plot.
if you have ever loved the pink sleep of five in the morning,
you have been in love.
and if you have wanted to hear a song again,
walked barefoot on grass,
laughed at anything at all,
you have been in love.
life can be perfect if you want it to, and if you make it to be.
bad weather?
life is perfect.
they did not love you?
life is perfect.
For the poet never changed her plans to go to the bar
when she dropped the teapot
out of nervousness this morning
and the boys
went for the swim
when they knew the waves were enormous.
Go to the bar
and swim with the sharks.
Make life
perfect for you.

"hier encore, j'avais vingt ans"
standing still in your kitchen with red walls
watching you make coffee in that small moka ***
while whispering the songs we danced to the night before
beneath that turkish lamp your mom bought a long time ago
and your lips met mine as charles aznavour sang along
tasting of the red wine we drank all night long

"mais j'ai perdu mon temps"
while waiting for something more
holding onto that empty mug in my hands
now cold as the kitchen floor we once danced
that one night in october many years ago
yet our silhouttes are still spinning around
as you hold someone else in your arms now

à présent, j'ai vingt-deux ans
standing far away from your kitchen with red walls
watching you make coffee in that same moka ***
while whispering how you never felt this way before
beneath that turkish lamp you lit up a long time ago
you take a sip from your cup as you look into her eyes
those big coffee-brown eyes, just like mine